


On Four Legs

by catpoop



Series: Sheith Month 2017 [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Gun Violence, M/M, Mild Gore, SheithMonth2k17, Werewolf Keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-07 11:45:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11622843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catpoop/pseuds/catpoop
Summary: Sheith Month '17 - 4/8: FreedomWhen Shiro frees a wild dog from a bear trap, he gets more than he bargained for





	On Four Legs

**Author's Note:**

> wanted to write a werewolf!au eventually ... so here it is

Shiro studies the sprawling expanse of grasslands before him for the slightest sign of movement. With rifle at the ready, Shiro's prepared to hunt down as many rabbits as he can. There's good money on taking the pests out. The grassy hills are the rabbits’ preferred hideouts, so Shiro usually leaves the neighbouring forest alone.

Suddenly, a whimpering cry disturbs the peace, a pitiful siren amongst the subtler noises. Lowering his rifle, Shiro steps closer to the forest.

It’s something much, much larger than a rabbit, even if the dark fur tricks him for a second. Some kind of … dog, unkempt and hunched over and clearly in pain.

A large, rusted bear trap emerges from the damp undergrowth, long chain securing it to a nearby tree. The jagged teeth dig deep into the animal’s flank, and it turns doleful eyes towards Shiro, whining quietly.

Shiro raises his rifle.

_Ping!_

The dog lets out an aggravated howl. But instead of sinking into flesh, the bullet meets metal, snapping the chain in two. 

“Hey, don’t worry.” Shiro lowers his gun. “That wasn’t aimed at you.”

Teeth still bared, it noses at the broken chain before tentatively limping towards Shiro. The trap is an ugly extension to its body, dark and crusted and weighing down the lithe animal. Each step is a heaving effort.

The creature will have to be put down. The thought of it trapped and starving for who knows how long nearly convinces him to put it out of its misery, but Shiro doesn't reach for his trigger. Maybe the dog can be saved.

A sympathetic pang wrenches through Shiro when it follows him out of the forest on unsteady legs. Away from the shadow of the canopy and under sunlight, the dark, mangled figure becomes clearer. 

Suddenly, Shiro can make out more details: curved claws, aggressive teeth, and a head that’s not dog-like at all.

His house is in sight when something clicks within him. The creature looks more wolf than dog, despite the way in which it’s dutifully padding behind him.

The rifle itches against his side.

He gives the creature a closer look and it returns his gaze with listless eyes, whining and shaking its head. Shiro takes a slow step away.

“What do you want? Food?”

The thrashing only intensifies as Shiro slowly backs up, covering the short distance to his house while never losing sight of the wolf.

It blinks lazily at him.

\-----

A growl echoes outside his door.

Shiro’s rifle was already set aside and he’d prepared to sit down, but the wolf demands his attention with another series of miserable noises.

Shiro gives in, eventually.

“What do you _want_?”

The curled-up animal shudders with a whine and shifts as if to show off the bear trap.

Sighing, Shiro accepts defeat. He hesitantly inspects the unkempt pile of fur before him, eyeing the sharp teeth cautiously.

The raised springs on the bear trap are rusted into place, securely holding the jaws shut around the bone-thin, mangled leg. With a wary, outstretched hand, he tests the mechanism. The wolf doesn’t bite him, thankfully, but neither do the springs depress.

“I’ll – be back.” He mumbles. “Just gotta find something.”

The heavy clamps he returns with provide just enough brute force to lower the springs. Grimacing in what he hopes is a placating manner, Shiro moves to wrench apart the jaws. At the first creak of metal, the animal lets loose a tortured noise, squirming and attempting to bite at Shiro’s ankles. He dances out of the way.

“Watch it!”

An angry huff sounds from its snapping jaws.

“If you’re going to take a chunk out of me, then I’m not helping you.” 

In hindsight, talking down the wolf was probably the least effective thing he could’ve done. But the creature remains unexpectedly still, allowing Shiro to inspect the trap once again and tug the jaws from the exposed flesh. Skin and dried blood rips from the trap with an almost-audible sensation. 

To the wolf’s credit, it doesn’t snap or hiss or gouge claws into Shiro’s side. With a gentle thump, the animal collapses to the ground.

\-----

His new housemate looks a little out of place in the cosy home he’s established for himself. Shiro watches in dismay as the towel he’d laid the wolf on turns red with blood. The black heap of fur rises and falls with the slightest breathing – an assurance that it’s still alive.

Shiro’s no vet; the last time he handled an animal was cleaning up a load of dead rabbits. Carefully, he hefts the limp creature into his arms, wrinkling his nose at the smell and weeping wounds.

A wash, first. Then bandages, if he has any.

With wet and matted fur, the wolf is pitifully shrunken. Shiro lays him out to dry in front of the fireplace like he would a wet towel. The wolf voices no complaint.

Halfway through making dinner, a scritching of claws from behind alerts Shiro to the new houseguest. A spray of wet water all over his legs further emphasises the fact, and Shiro stutters for just long enough that sharp forepaws can reach for the counter and a curious nose nudge at the fresh cut of meat.

Shiro slaps the furred snout with a tea towel. “Down!”

The wolf stares at him for a sentient second, baring sharp teeth in a throaty growl. 

“This isn’t for you! I’ll get you something else.”

 _What?_ curious eyes seem to ask. Begrudgingly, Shiro fishes out a thawed rabbit carcass.

“ _This_ , but outside.”

“Outside!” He repeats, when the rabbit is torn from his hands with a well-placed snap. The wolf stares challengingly at him, chewing down its dinner before Shiro’s very eyes. Half a bloody ribcage rolls to a stop beside his feet.

With maw still bloody, the damned animal pads back out. (To resume napping by the fire, Shiro later finds.)

\-----

Despite his frustrations, the wolf never leaves. Happily crunching down on each and every rabbit Shiro offers, it makes a watering hole out of his toilet and a bed out of the now-stained spot before his fireplace.

The creature is strangely well-trained. His commands are met with reluctant acceptance, and Shiro swears he sees it nodding along to his drunken contemplations. 

“Are you … actually a wolf?” Shiro waves lazily at the dark blur across the room from him. Despite his inebriation, he can see the dark snout nodding.

“Oh. Okay. Just checking.” Had wolves always been this good at hunting down rabbits (and returning them to him half-mangled)?

Shiro falls asleep on the couch to the thought of his canine companion.

When he wakes, a jacket is draped over him and a mild headache pounds through his temples. Shiro groans at echoing footsteps upstairs.

“Who’s there?”

In his drowsy state, the possibility of an intruder doesn’t register. Just as he closes his eyes, an enthusiastic huff answers him. The wolf bounds down the stairs and bares pointed teeth at him.

“Oh. Hey.”

The wild animal doesn’t reply. 

It – he? – looks a little healthier now, sallow sunken eyes shining brighter and fur no longer matted with twigs. Healthy enough to return to the wild, if Shiro’s amateur opinion is to be trusted.

“Why don’t you run along with your wolfie friends?” Furred ears twitch at his words. “You’re free now.”

\-----

Despite the sentiment, Keith ignores the human in favour of snoozing by his fireplace. The food is decent, his wound cleaned daily, and the house free of bear traps. After a week of pained starving and contemplating chewing his leg off, the forest looks a lot less welcoming.

He was searching for food in his wolf form when the ancient metal hell-beast rose up and clamped metal jaws around his leg. Keith twitches in a silent scream. 

He could leave – for the town in which Shiro works, or elsewhere. But there’s something about the man, accepting of the wolf in his house. Unlike other humans, who are cynical and sneering and armed at the first sighting of a were.

“Good wolfie!” Shiro calls, and Keith stays.

\-----

A week morphs into several then into a month, Keith settled comfortably in his position of hunting dog for Shiro’s weekend forays. And that’s where he messes up.

Lazy, comfortable, confidence threading through his veins urges him to turn when Shiro is out.

The water is soothing on his human skin, the fridge entirely accessible, and the house _his_. For as long before Shiro returns. Sometimes eight, sometimes nine hours.

Keith lounges in the living room draped in a blanket, eyes tracking the dying embers. The ugly wound up his right thigh has healed shut, but his ferocious bout of sprinting earlier in the day twinges pulsing pain through his muscles.

Keith hisses with a long exhale, stretching pointed toes to the sky. The freedom to run is liberating. Even if his body says otherwise. He settles against the couch, counting the seconds between each droop of his eyelids. 

Against better judgement, Keith falls asleep.

He wakes to a rifle pointing him in the face. For a second, he’s back in the forest.

“Who are you?” Shiro growls.

In a panicked frenzy, Keith leaps up, turning into his wolf form to scrabble away. He never does hear Shiro pulling the trigger over his panicked breathing. 

A burning in his flank bowls him over and he stumbles, crashing heavily against the wall. Without looking, he can already see the acrid smear of blood in a trail behind him; feel the way it’s pulsing out of the fresh wound. The urge to keep running is suffocatingly strong, forcing frantic twitches down his legs despite how treacle-thick the air has become.

Keith’s vision blurs to black to Shiro bending over him, face warped in distressed concern.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading :)
> 
> @swummeng-geys.tumblr.com  
> twitter: @hashtag_yikes


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